


It was getting difficult

by flamboyantlycriminal (error221b)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Forced Marriage, M/M, dark future!AU, mortastic fic exchange, nationalistic totalitarian something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/error221b/pseuds/flamboyantlycriminal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written as part of the Mortastic Fic Exchange, for phoenixhowl's prompt: "a MorMor or SeveRich ‘arranged marriage’ fic".  It's not exactly what it was supposed to be, but since the recipient was happy, I would guess it's good enough.</p><p>And just to be on the safe side: I DO NOT agree on my fanfiction being passed in any form to the people involved with the making of the series, be it actors, writers, producers or anyone else. I DO NOT agree on printing or recording it for other purposes than personal use of the fans. It's a fan work, made by a fan and for fans only. DO NOT be an asshole. Thank you.</p>
    </blockquote>





	It was getting difficult

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixhowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixhowl/gifts).



> Written as part of the Mortastic Fic Exchange, for phoenixhowl's prompt: "a MorMor or SeveRich ‘arranged marriage’ fic". It's not exactly what it was supposed to be, but since the recipient was happy, I would guess it's good enough.
> 
> And just to be on the safe side: I DO NOT agree on my fanfiction being passed in any form to the people involved with the making of the series, be it actors, writers, producers or anyone else. I DO NOT agree on printing or recording it for other purposes than personal use of the fans. It's a fan work, made by a fan and for fans only. DO NOT be an asshole. Thank you.

One could say many things about Sebastian Moran, but not that he was an idiot. Given, of course, that they’re not one very particular, very exceptional man, who never seemed to quite grasp the difference between insults and terms of endearment.

  


It was getting difficult for everyone and they couldn’t stand above it all, pretending they were immune, forever. Jim would be quieter, even more so than usually, and such silence was never a good sign with him. Because it wasn’t the kind of a silence when he would forget about Sebastian for hours, too lost with a scheme to bother with the sniper and only give up when he would be forced to eat or sleep, like an overly engaged child. This was the silence when Jim would hear every word but deny him an answer. That meant he wasn’t busy and Jim was at his best when he was, really. Anything was better than this. Jim getting furious, Jim torturing some terribly unlucky fellow, anything. Of all things this was the scariest, the most inhuman. To him, at least. That would be why Sebastian was relieved, above all else, when he heard the other’s quiet murmur.

“We should get married.”

Of course. Jim’s resistance to getting him false papers was getting ridiculous and after a lot of thinking that was the only thing Sebastian could see as a reason. Why get a fake that could be traced, they could be if they were unlucky enough to come across someone persistent enough, when he could just have them sign the real deal? Avoiding controls was fun only until a point and that was a long time ago. He would have to be an idiot not to see this coming. And he wasn’t one.

“Anytime, boss.”

It wasn’t like he was going to argue. With a soft shrug, he looked over at Jim. He swore to protect him after all, whether Jim took it seriously or not. And that was a cheap price to pay to at least eliminate the everlooming threat of him getting caught and deported. Especially that the rumors about how many were actually sent six feet under rather than back where they came from were slowly becoming a fact nobody talked about rather than a whispered sensation. It really was getting difficult.

“How enthusiastic.”

It was a reply, better than nothing, Sebastian thought. Even if a brushing off, meaningless one. Obviously neither of them was excited about it. What was to Jim a tedious necessity, to the sniper was more of a sick and twisted mockery of something he wouldn’t even allow himself to ever want. One couldn’t just claim Jim Moriarty, no. It was somewhere in the definition of the man. And pretending, even for a moment, that it was otherwise was plainly  _wrong_.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait.” Sebastian derided with a faint smirk. “I just can’t believe the happiest day of my life is approaching so suddenly. Shall I send out wedding invitations, or do you want to? I would think you want them to be something particularly special and my taste could spoil the entire joyful…”

“Do shut up, Moran. For Christ’s sake…” Jim sighed heavily, cutting in, and looked over at the sniper. “It’s just a signature and it’s simply convenient, a marriage with a flatmate will look far more believable.”

“You’re breaking my heart, I thought you only just realized I’m the love of your life.” Sebastian teased again, letting his smirk widen.

But he might have taken it too far as Jim didn’t grace that with more of an answer than an eyeroll.

  


The ring felt so odd and out of place on his finger. It was annoying, really, the way it would sometimes clank against a mug handle, or a table top, or a gun as he was cleaning it, filling him with the most ridiculous shade of embarrassment at the thought Jim could hear it. He hated it. Even more so because the criminal insisted he would wear it, having discarded his own sooner than he should feel comfortable with. And knowing he didn’t really get rid of it, but put away in one of the drawers of the desk in his study, just in case, he said, wasn’t much of a consolation. It was a reminder of what he would rather forget.  
  
  


The ceremony, if one could even call it a word that big, was much like a quickie in a club toilet, only lacking the excitement of one. It was making him sick, but the thought that Jim was safer now, that was worth everything. He would die for him, after all, and he would do so gladly. When compared, the tiny chunk of platinum was hardly a sacrifice. And yet Sebastian couldn’t help but hate it. Had it been  _the old days_ , a time he couldn’t remember clearly anymore, he would just assign a couple of other men to watch the flat closely and sneak out for a beer or seven and a girl he would do in a back alley and maybe a boy to suck him dry sometime later. But it was getting difficult for everyone, wasn’t it? Cursing himself for his own naivety, for believing that for a moment he saw almost compassion flickering in Jim’s eye as he left a bottle of Talisker on the coffee table before disappearing in the study for hours, Sebastian drank it like cheapest whiskey in a foulest dive, getting pitifully drunk for the first time in ages. And when he made it to his bed, undressing clumsily and falling asleep before he knew it, the bitterness clinged to him like the aftertaste of the alcohol he downed, not even softened by the warmth that woke him, the pale and fragile little body that demanded touch and attention and overpowered him with such strange ease before pinning him down and rutting against him, into him, spilling, and sliding away, and collapsing, breathing heavily before seemingly ceasing to do so at all as it fell asleep, all in complete and utter silence. That was the last time Sebastian saw Jim wearing his ring. And for a moment he hated it more than anything. 


End file.
